


The Icing on the Cake

by istie



Series: Every One That Asketh [8]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Birthday Smut, EOTA-verse, F/M, Icing, Oral Sex, Voice Kink, c'mon we all hear his voice in our head, it counts, romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie
Summary: It's Garrus' birthday - and Shepard's caught without a gift.  What's a girl to do?
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: Every One That Asketh [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171175
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	The Icing on the Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Booksomewench](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Booksomewench/gifts).



> A birthday gift for the lovely @booksomewench. :D
> 
> This sits between chapters 57 and 58 of [_Every One That Asketh_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/921546) \- do feel free to insert it there in your minds... And if you're here and you haven't read EOTA, you'll still be able to appreciate the story I'm sure, but there might be a few surprising details! XD
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hover over text for translations; mobile users, see the end notes.

> ` 0740 hours, November 15, 2187, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar `  
>  ` The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula `  
>  ` Kithoi Ward, Silversun Strip, Tiberius Towers `  
>  ` Shepard-Vakarian Apartment `

Shepard was just about out the door to head for Citadel Tower, kissing Vi on the head and taking her shoulder bag from Garrus, when his omnitool chimed. “It’s Sol,” he said, “I should take this.”

“Of course,” she replied, standing on tiptoe and kissing his mandible. “See you when I get home. Love you, hon.”

“Love you too.” He touched his forehead to hers, and she headed for the door. As she was putting her shoes on, she heard him answer the call: “Hey, Sol, what’s up?”

Her hand was over the door control when Solana answered: only she wasn’t speaking, she was… singing? “ _Speran'atna šæ£eliaila elixa,_ _ anošela si ciła ælialo! Æminoš'at traža, čosna šisi sixeli!” _ A lively tune, playful even; definitely catchy.

Garrus laughed out loud. “Aren’t I getting a little too old for this?”

Solana sounded downright offended. “Excuse me, little brother, you’ll never be too old for me to sing you happy birthday. Just be glad I didn’t loop _Dad_ in.”

 _Oh, fuck me_ , Shepard thought, _it’s his birthday? How did I not know this?_ She glanced at her omnitool and cursed under her breath. If she didn’t go _now_ , she was going to be late, and she was first up this morning.

She dashed out, wishing for the first time in her life that Kelly Chambers was still around.

* * *

> ` 1146 hours, November 15, 2187, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar `  
>  ` Citadel Tower, Council Chambers `

“Sparatus,” she said, as the councillors were dispersing for lunch, “can I have a word?”

“Certainly,” he replied, setting a datapad on the table. “What can I do for you?”

She motioned towards the hallway with her head. “Could we…” He took the hint and followed her out: she ducked into an empty office, and when the door had swished shut behind them, she said, “What do turians do for their birthdays?”

He did an honest-to-God double-take, blinking at her several times before spreading his mandibles in realization and amusement. “Missed Vakarian’s birthday, did you? Well, that’s not _quite_ as bad as forgetting your anniversary…”

Shepard threw her hands in the air. “Somehow, I’ve managed to work with the man for four damn years without ever finding out when his birthday was! Help me out here, Sparatus, I’ve got nothing. What’s the protocol here? Do I make him dinner, take him out somewhere? Are presents a thing?”

Sparatus was grinning widely, doing the subvocal equivalent of biting one’s lip to keep from laughing out loud. “No need to panic, Shepard,” he said. “As I understand it, our traditions are very similar to yours – any of those examples would be perfectly acceptable.” He sobered suddenly, lowering his eyebrows very seriously. “Though, it wouldn’t do to skip the traditional rock-climbing party… modernized, of course: usually one scales a building, now.”

She stared at him. “You have got to be kidding me.”

He stared back for a moment, then broke into a grin again. “I am _absolutely_ kidding.”

“For crying out loud…”

* * *

“Hi, Liara. … Yes, everything’s fine. I need your help. … No, those two sentences aren’t mutually exclusive. … I need you to get Garrus out of the apartment from 1600 hours to 1700 hours my time. … I don’t care how you do it, as long as he comes back in one piece and has no idea I’m involved at all. … You’re a saint. I owe you. Also could you please send me a list of everyone’s birthdays? Because I will be damned if I’m getting surprised by anything like this again. … Stop laughing at me, T’Soni.”

* * *

> ` 1708 hours, November 15, 2187, Terran Universal Coordinated Calendar  `  
>  ` Kithoi Ward, Silversun Strip, Tiberius Towers `  
>  ` Shepard-Vakarian Apartment `

Garrus was humming a dual-vocal song to Viatrix as he returned home, Liara’s mysterious package tucked away in his bag. He had no idea what he’d picked up from the dead drop, but with Liara, you never asked. He secured it in their safe in the library, then set Vi in her little rocker on the kitchen counter and pulled up his omnitool to order something for dinner. It was his birthday, after all: may as well have something special.

Order sent, he opened the fridge to get something to drink, and tilted his head: that container hadn’t been there at lunch. Had Shepard come home early? Surely not – Council meetings never ended early when they could possibly go late, which was always. Were the Keepers messing with the contents of their kitchen again? He picked the container up, closed the fridge, then turned the container over to read the label… and got even more confused: it was a container of premade icing – _dextro-friendly_ premade icing.

He was pretty sure Shepard didn’t know when his birthday was: he’d never told her. He didn’t usually make a big deal out of it, hadn’t bothered in years. Had she found out somehow? It was certainly possible. He wouldn’t have put it past Solana to tell her: now _there_ was someone who went all-out for birthdays.

The container seemed light: he cracked it open, and found some missing. Curiouser and curiouser… he dipped a talon into the light blue cream, tasted it— mm, _popula_ berries, his favourite. This _had_ to be Solana’s doing, now.

“I can think of at least a dozen better things you could be doing with that tongue,” came Shepard’s voice from the entrance to the kitchen: he startled, turned sharply, and—

And his train of thought died completely.

Well, he’d figured out where the rest of the icing had gone, that was for sure.

Shepard was leaning on the wall, entirely nude apart from several well-placed swirls of icing, one hand on her hip and a truly wicked smile on her face. “We learned about the protocols for reunions,” she said, her voice low and sensuous, “but what about birthdays?”

The _kalix_ had well and truly caught his tongue. He stared at her, open-mouthed, and the only sound he managed was a magnificently eloquent, “I…”

She tilted her head down, looked at him through her eyelashes, and _purred_ , “I can’t exactly get this off myself, you know.”

That did it: he abandoned the container on the counter, closed the distance between them, and kissed her as he pulled her off the wall, sliding his tongue over her icing-covered lips. Her hands, then her hips, found the edge of the island, after which she began unfastening his clothing; he shucked his shirt off and came down on one knee, one hand on her waist and one on her breast – which he then divested of its sweet decoration, Shepard shivering slightly as he sucked gently. “Okay, so,” she said, “counting this one as a win, I take it you’re – _oh_ – enjoying yourself.”

He turned his attention to her other breast, licking it clean before responding. “I mean, I can’t think of any situation where I’d turn down the opportunity to have sex with you, Shepard, but this—” he dipped his head, trailed his tongue up from her navel— “this is the icing on the cake.”

She groaned. “That’s _terrible._ ”

“You started it,” he said, unrepentantly, and continued rising, licking the crook of her neck and up along her jawline, beginning to press his body against hers.

She shuddered, her head thrown back, and she tilted backwards against the island, her heels lifting off the floor. “Didn’t say I was complaining.”

“No,” he murmured in her ear, flicking the very tip of his tongue against her cheek, “in fact, I think you’re doing quite the opposite.”

She laughed, the sound breathy and quick. “This was supposed to be a birthday present for _you_ ,” she said, “but it feels an awful lot like one for _me_.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied, sliding back down to his knees. “I can’t think of anything I’d want more.”

“Is that s— _so_ ,” she said.

“Mm hmm,” he hummed, and dragged his tongue along the inside of one thigh, then the other. “Not a single thing in the entire galaxy.” He placed a hand on each of her thighs, then delicately licked along her labia, eliciting a soft moan from her. “You like that, do you?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, “God, yes.”

“What about… this?” Deeper, this time, with a little flick upwards against her clit: she bucked her hips, and this time the sound she made was wanton.

“ _Oh—_ oh fuck, yes, please, _more_.”

He went even deeper, tracing her entrance, turning circles around her clitoris then pressing on it, beside it, listening to – and loving – her little (and not-so-little) sounds. Her arms started to tremble, her feet still slightly off the floor, and he shifted his hands to hold her up at the same time as he slid his tongue inside her: she gasped his name, once, twice, a third time, each repetition more insistent than the last, matching the intensity of his movement.

She was getting close, he could feel it – her muscles were beginning to twitch, to tighten. He felt a hand in his fringe, pulling him up gently, and he looked up to meet her eyes, bright with passion and lust. “I want you,” she said breathlessly, “please, Garrus, I want _you_.”

He purred assent against her skin and smiled as she shuddered in response, head falling back again. _Happy birthday to me indeed,_ he thought to himself, as he stood and completed his pile of discarded clothing. He stepped in even closer, wrapped an arm up around her back and put his other hand on her waist, rolling his hips against her and himself into her as his plates finished shifting: she gave a full-throated groan of pleasure, gripping the edge of the counter tight and pressing down, taking him ever deeper; he lowered his head to her neck as he began to thrust with a growl that resonated in her chest, the coil of heat building inside him, winding ever tighter, ever hotter, until with a roar and a cry they both snapped: Shepard collapsed in his grip, her whole body shaking, and he bent over her, breathing hard, shuddering as he felt her twitch around him.

They soon retreated upstairs, settling Viatrix in her crib while they fell into bed: neither showed any inclination of leaving, and indeed dinner arrived and was left at the door.

Later, Garrus opened the drawer of his nightstand, to set his visor in its case for the night, and was surprised to find something else beside it: a book. He pulled it out, angled it so the light fell on its cover, and let out an incredulous laugh. “ _The Paragon’s Vice: A Collection of Short Stories featuring …_ well, now I’ve seen everything.”

Shepard came out of the washroom, saw what he’d found, and fell back onto the bed with a chuckle. “I’d recommend page forty-four,” she said, trailing a hand down his back.

“Oh?” he said, amused.

“Definitely,” she replied. “Our translators get hacked and we take the day off.”

He opened the book, flipped through it. “Do they now.”

“Mm hmm.”

“Well, we all know how realistic _that_ is.”

“What, the translators malfunctioning? I’d believe that.”

“No,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her with a grin, “the taking-a-day-off part.”

“And many happy returns of the day to you, you ungrateful twit.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

He stuck his tongue out in return; she shivered and smiled; he put the book down and came to straddle her again, leaning down and trailing his tongue down her neck. “Do I seem ungrateful?” he asked. “Here, let me disabuse you of that notion…”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
>  _Speran'atna šæ£eliaila elixa,_ // I wish you a happy birthday,  
>  _anošela si ciła ælialo!_ // another year around the sun!  
>  _Æminoš'at traža,_ // My dear friend,  
>  _čosna sisi sixeli!_ // may you have many more!
> 
> * * *
> 
> The astute and well-read among you may have caught that the story referred to in _The Paragon's Vice_ is, in fact, one of my own fics: [_In Beta._](https://archiveofourown.org/works/839393)


End file.
